The Victory
by an-extraordinary-muse
Summary: Oliver and Felicity meet by chance in one of the most crowded cities in the world. They think that's the end of it ... until they meet again, in another city, a year later. Chance meetings suddenly don't seem so random. An AU piece of (very) fluffy fiction.
1. Chapter 1

_**AN: I started writing this weeks ago. It was supposed to be a short little one-shot (the idea was to do a 5 + 1 fic) and then it spiraled wildly, wildly out of control. It sat for a while 'cause I didn't have time to edit it between finals, but now I think that's probably a good thing in light of the mid-season finale. This story is AU, and all fluff. It's also finished - yay! (I'm still working on The Reluctant Queen, don't worry. Just thought I'd share some fluff). Also, the layout of the Louvre and the Paris streets are written from memory and some help from Google. Please forgive me if I've gotten anything wrong.**_

_**Spoilers: None. AU.**_

_**Disclaimer: Not mine. **_

* * *

**Paris, 2013**

They are in the Louvre when he sees her.

Tommy and Laurel are still in the hallway behind him, and Oliver has followed Thea out onto a marble landing. There's a wide staircase to his left and a short set of stairs in front of him; on the landing where the different sets of stairs meet is a large statue of a woman who has no head and no arms, but a massive set of wings.

The museum is full of beautiful artwork, but Oliver thinks this is his favorite piece so far.

Thea is reading the museum guide she insisted on buying from the bookstore before they started the walk through.

"My feet are killing me," she grouses.

"This was your idea," Oliver retorts.

"It was Tommy's idea," Thea corrects. "I just went a long with it because it was something to do. I don't know if you've noticed, but this summer sucks."

Oliver thinks that might be unnecessarily dramatic. He's about to tell his sister so when a massive knot of people on the landing disperses and his eyes fall on a petite blonde woman. She's standing quietly in front of the statue, a camera in one hand that she's not even trying to use, and smiling softly. The sight is so strange that Oliver finds himself cocking his head to one side as he observes her more closely. Her blonde hair falls in soft waves down her back and she wears dark glasses; her dress is a light pink, soft and feminine. People move around her but she is in a bubble of her own, as if the crowds are loathe to interrupt whatever moment she seems to be experiencing.

"I'll be right back," Oliver says impulsively.

"What?"

He's already down the steps and doesn't answer. Oliver feels drawn to this woman but he approaches her slowly. He doesn't want to startle her or come off like a creep; he's not sure what he wants to do, really, except be pulled into this stranger's orbit.

Oliver is trying to decide whether or not he should say something – and what to say, if he decides to – as he moves into the empty space beside her. The choice is made for him when a group of boys weave suddenly between the legs of crowd: one of them bumps gracelessly into the blonde woman and she stumbles right into him.

"Oh!" she exclaims in surprise.

Oliver catches her by the elbow and her other hand latches instinctively around his forearm as she works to right herself.

"I am so sorry," she apologizes quickly. "I wasn't paying attention and someone …"

She finally looks up and into Oliver's face, and her words die on her lips. Oliver smiles reassuringly even as he watches blue eyes widen behind their glasses.

"No apology needed," Oliver says. "Glad I could help."

"Me too," she murmurs. Then, quickly, "I mean, thank you."

She realizes then that he's still holding her elbow and she's clutching his forearm; she removes her hand quickly, obviously embarrassed, and Oliver releases her elbow so that she can take a step back.

"I'm Oliver." He holds out a hand and smiles again.

"Felicity," she replies, and shakes his hand. "Sorry about falling for you, Oliver. On you! Sorry about falling on you, I mean, not falling for you, obviously, because who does that. Not that I wouldn't fall for you. No! That came out wrong. I meant to say that I'm sure lots of people would fall for you, because you're definitely handsome, and …"

Oliver is smiling so widely that his cheeks are burning. He's doing his best not to laugh, because the woman in front of him is already flustered enough by her own doing, but he can feel the chuckle bubbling in his throat.

"Ugh! My brain thinks of the worst way to say things," Felicity mutters dryly. "I'm sorry that you had to hear all of that."

"Don't be," Oliver answers. "I can already tell it's gonna be the highlight of my day."

"But you're in the Louvre," Felicity states in disbelief.

"Oh, is that what they call this place? Huh. I thought it'd be bigger."

She stares at him, open mouthed, for a heartbeat; then her nose scrunches ever so slightly, and she starts to laugh. Even above the din of the tourist masses, the sound is sweet and clear, and makes Oliver smile.

"What about you, Felicity? Is the Louvre everything you hoped it would be?" Oliver enquires.

"Best part of the city," she answers easily. She's not laughing anymore, but her lingering smile is beautiful. "And this is the best spot in the museum."

"The best? Why is that?"

Felicity motions with a small hand toward the statue in front of them. "Because Nike is my favorite."

"Favorite statue?" he prods.

"Favorite anything."

Oliver reassesses the piece of artwork in front of them. The feminine form is huge and looms over the people that pass; it is still an impressive piece despite its age and wear. Then again, maybe it is impressive – and beautiful – because of its age and wear.

He makes up his mind right then that, yes, this is his favorite thing in the museum as well.

"Wait, did you say Nike?" He turns his gaze back to Felicity. "This statue is named Nike? As in, the shoe?"

Felicity chuckles and nods in response. "The shoe was named after the statue, but yes. Technically, her name is actually The Victory of Samothrace, but most people know her as Nike. And now I sound like a huge nerd, don't I?"

"I don't -."

The rest of Oliver's reply is cut off by the sound of his sister calling his name. When he glances back to the spot where he left her, he sees that Tommy and Laurel have joined her; Tommy is grinning like the cat that caught the mouse.

"Guess I better go, before my sister comes to drag me away." Oliver genuinely regrets that he can't stay and talk for a while longer.

Two women pop into existence at Felicity's side then. They are both beautiful women and they're grinning happily, their attention so focused on Felicity that they don't immediately notice him.

"Thank God you're still here! Caitlin just spent half an hour trying to explain in extreme detail why the …"

"Iris!" the other girl hisses.

Felicity has turned to look at the women Oliver assumes are her friends; at the insistent hiss, three pairs of eyes turn on him.

"Uh, hi," the brunette says.

"Wow," the other one adds. "Does Felicity know you?"

"She does now," Oliver teases with a grin.

A light dusting of pink that nearly matches her dress spreads over Felicity's cheeks.

"Ollie! We will leave you here, you know."

Oliver rolls his eyes for dramatic effect. "Sisters," he says. Then he fixes his eyes on Felicity; this time his smile is wide and sincere. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Felicity."

"You too, Oliver."

He leans forward carefully, careful not to cross from intimate into intimidating, and says: "You can fall for me anytime. On me, I mean." And then he winks at her.

Oliver doesn't look back, but as he rejoins his group and they turn into another hall he's afforded a last glimpse of Felicity: she appears to be fending off questions from her friends.

She's smiling.

Tommy drops back to fall in beside him as Laurel and Thea navigate the crowds ahead of them.

"Who was the hot blonde?" Tommy asks. "And how did you manage to pick up a chick in the freaking Louvre, man?"

"She's not a chick, Tommy, and I didn't pick her up."

"Whoa, whoa." Tommy holds up both of his hands in mock surrender. "Easy buddy. Just curious, that's all. You two seemed to be enjoying yourselves, is all I'm saying."

"Her name is Felicity," Oliver replies. "And I caught her when some kids knocked into her. That's all."

Except that isn't all, because he can't stop thinking about how much he'd wanted to laugh at her embarrassing ramble or how brightly she'd smiled. Oliver had spent all of maybe ten minutes in her company and already wants to see her again. An impossible feat, of course, since she's nothing more than a stranger that he'd met by pure chance in one of the most touristy, populated places in the world.

_Thea's right_, Oliver thinks, _this summer sucks_.

* * *

"Thea, I'm not carrying that for the rest of the day."

"Ollie …"

"Not happening. Buy whatever you want, but you're carrying it yourself."

"Ugh, fine."

Oliver hears his sister move to a different part of the gift shop and resumes browsing the shelves. They're in a gift shop on the underground level of the museum, near the entrance to the Paris Metro that feeds directly into the building. Every few minutes he can hear the trains speed by.

His eyes are drawn to the top shelf. Nike figurines are lined up in order of height; the largest look to be heavy and made of bronze or marble. There are bookends and paperweights, and a few smaller figurines that are probably plaster and fit easily in his hand when he picks one up.

"I'm partial to that big marble one, myself."

Oliver looks up immediately. Felicity is standing at the end of the shelves; she's smirking at him.

A few feet behind her he thinks he recognizes her friends from earlier browsing another shelf.

"Closest you can get to the original?" he asks, like he's not stunned to see her again.

"Oh, no, just something to keep in my purse in case I ever need to hit someone with it."

Oliver grins. "I think mace might work better for self defense purposes."

"Maybe, but it lacks a certain sense of …"

"Bodily harm?" Oliver supplies.

"Style," Felicity finishes.

He laughs.

"Well, we certainly can't have that." Oliver notices that Felicity has a purse slung over her shoulder, but no shopping bags. "No souvenirs?"

"The trip is the souvenir," she answers. Then she holds up her camera. "And the downright terrifying number of pictures I've taken."

He studies her for a minute. She looks to be about his age, or maybe a few years younger, and everything about her puts him in mind of happiness. Felicity doesn't look at all bothered by her lack of souvenirs, even though Oliver is certain that he can see a number of shopping bags being carried by her friends.

"I know you said you wouldn't carry it, Ollie, but what if it's small?" Thea asks as she turns the corner. Then, when she spots Felicity, "Oh. Hello."

"That's what your purse is for. Thea, this is Felicity. Felicity, this is my sister, Thea."

"Nice to meet you, Thea," Felicity says with a smile.

"You too. You're …"

"Hi," a new voice says suddenly.

"Way to interrupt, Tommy," Thea grouses.

"That's rich coming from you, Thea," Tommy retorts. He turns a charming smile on Felicity. "I'm sorry, my sister is a brat sometimes. And you are?"

Felicity is confused for just a second. Thea's expression does something strange when the word sister falls from Tommy's mouth, but she covers it almost immediately. Felicity ignores the flare of curiosity she feels and the mild discomfort she thinks she sees in Thea's body language. Tommy doesn't seem to notice.

"Felicity," she answers. Tommy has extended his hand so she takes it and gives it a shake.

"No last name, Felicity?" Tommy queries.

Oliver starts to say something and gets cut off.

"Not for you," she quips. "You seem charming enough, Tommy, but you could be anyone. A serial killer, for all I know. Or a stalker, and I don't need a repeat of that lacrosse player from freshman year."

"Even though you're definitely hotter than that guy was."

Felicity half turns to see that Iris and Caitlin have finished their shopping in time to join their impromptu meeting. Iris is grinning at Tommy, who seems pleased by her comment.

Laurel steps into place next to Oliver's other side just then.

"Iris, Caitlin, this is Tommy, Thea, Oliver and … I'm sorry, I don't know your name."

"Laurel," she answers. "You're the girl from the statue, aren't you?"

"Guilty. I'm Felicity."

"I have a fantastic idea," Tommy says suddenly. "Let's have dinner. The museum is about to close, and I know a great restaurant."

"Oh, I don't know if that's a good idea," Caitlin hedges.

"What are you talking about, it's a great idea!" Iris exclaims.

Oliver is too busy watching Felicity to weigh in. She's studying them with interested, shrewd eyes as she listens to Tommy attempt to persuade them into having dinner. The idea occurs to him again that she's an attractive woman. Her lips are painted perfectly in a pink lipstick that somehow manages to be bright and flirty, and still match her dress.

He generally has one of two reactions to Tommy's ideas: _that's great, let's do it immediately_; or, alternately, _what the hell, Tommy, that's dumb and we're absolutely not doing that. _Oliver's response to the suggestion of dinner falls firmly into the first category.

He's so busy staring – no, not staring, he's definitely not staring – at Felicity that he almost misses Tommy's next words.

"Dinner's on Ollie."

Oliver starts in surprise and turns to look at his friend just as Thea smacks Tommy's arm. Next to him, Laurel scoffs lightly.

"Way to be a gentleman, Merlyn," Laurel chides.

"Okay, okay, dinner's on both of us," Tommy amends, laughing. "And the only one in danger of being injured is me. What do you say, ladies?"

"Okay," Felicity says slowly. She's smiling again and her attention is zeroed in on Oliver. "We'll go to dinner with you if Oliver can tell me the name of the statue in his hand."

He's completely forgotten that he's holding a small white figurine in his hand. When he looks down at it, he feels himself start to grin.

"Oh, that's easy," he teases.

"It is?" Thea says in surprise.

Oliver ignores her. "The Victory of Samothrace."

Felicity starts to laugh. "Dinner it is."

Now combined, the two groups start to head out of the gift shop. Oliver and Felicity are still standing in front of the shelf of miniature Victory figures. On impulse, he inclines his head toward them.

"Pick one," he says.

"What?" Felicity glances at the statues and then shakes her head. "Oh, no."

"Humor me. Your choices are white, bronze, and something that's supposed to be marble."

She studies his face for a minute and then pulls one of the small bronze statues off the shelf.

"This one."

Oliver takes it from her. "Come on."

He buys the white one in his hand and the bronze one she picked out.

"Gotta have a souvenir," he tells her when he hands it back to her.

"I told you," Felicity answers around her smile. "The trip is the souvenir."

"Who said it was for the trip?"

* * *

They are walking along the Promenade d'Australie after dinner when Oliver ventures to learn more about the captivating stranger next to him.

"So I'm not allowed to ask your last name," Oliver says, "But am I allowed to ask anything else?"

"You can ask, but I won't promise to answer."

He grins. "Fair enough. We'll start small. Is this your first time in Paris?"

"It is," Felicity answers with a nod. "And I have to say, it's a little overrated."

"You don't like Paris?" Oliver tries not to sound surprised. "I thought everyone loved this city."

"It's not bad," she answers quickly. "Just, not my favorite. So far, the Louvre and the Palace of Versailles have been the best part. What about you, Oliver? Do you love Paris?"

"Not really, actually."

Felicity gives him a mock glare. "You can't tease me about it when you have the same opinion! But if you don't like it, why are you here?" She realizes that the question might have a personal answer at the same time Oliver's expression falls. and tries to fix her blunder. "I mean, you don't have to tell me, of course, you're an adult and it's none of my business, and I'm sorry for asking, really."

Oliver considers taking the out she's offering. His reasons for being in Paris are personal and just thinking about them makes him uncomfortable and angry all over again; but Felicity is a stranger, someone who has no emotional stake in the situation, and there's just something about her.

He sighs and motions to the group of people several feet ahead of them.

"Tommy and I have been friends for a long time," he starts. "Most of our lives, actually. He's like family. About a month ago, our mom decided to tell us that he is actually family. Well, Thea's family, anyway. She and Tommy are half-siblings."

"So she's your sister, and Tommy's sister, but you and Tommy aren't related?"

Oliver shakes his head. Next to him, Felicity blows out a quiet breath.

"That's rough," she says. Then, "So I'm assuming it wasn't your idea to come to Paris?"

He chuckles at the way Felicity skips right over the awkwardness and navigates the conversation back to their present surroundings. He appreciates that there's no pity or aversion in her eyes when she looks at him.

"Nope," he answers. "So what about you? Why are you in Paris, Felicity?"

"It was Iris' pick." She finds her friend with her eyes and smiles when she realizes that Iris is talking animatedly with Tommy and Laurel. Next to them, Thea and Caitlin are shaking their heads at something. "This is sort of our last hurrah. Caitlin and Iris are moving at the end of the summer. We've been saving for this trip for years."

"Ah, now the whole 'this trip is the souvenir' thing makes sense."

They walk in silence for a while. The Paris streets are busy despite the darkness and semi-late hour and every so often a laugh or a reprimand filters back to them from their group of friends.

Felicity isn't sure how they ended up back here on their own. They'd started off as one big group, moving down the sidewalks in a line as they tried to follow and further several strings of conversation. She thinks it might have happened when she'd stopped to admire a line of porcelain vases in a store window – it's not a big deal, though, and she's not in a hurry to catch up. She's enjoying Oliver's company (more than she should, probably) and her friends don't seem to mind her temporary absence.

"So how much longer are you in the city?" Oliver asks after a while.

"Only a few days," Felicity answers. "And then it's on to the next leg of the trip."

"Oh, so the traveling isn't done?"

"There's a reason it took us years to save up." She grins playfully at him.

"So who picked the next destination?"

"I did. But it coincides with Caitlin's pick, so really it's the last stop."

"Let me guess." Oliver stops under the guise of trying to decide where the three women might go next, but really he just wants Felicity to turn toward him so that he can study her face by the streetlights. "Three beautiful women, loose in Europe and looking to send the summer out in style … Amsterdam?"

Felicity laughs. Oliver has only known her for a matter of hours and already the sound warms him and makes it impossible not to smile. She is beautiful, but when she smiles she's radiant.

"Rome and Pompeii. To be fair, though, Iris did suggest Amsterdam before Paris. Her dad's a cop, so you can imagine what his reaction would have been."

"Laurel's father is a cop as well, so I know just what you mean."

"Ollie!" Thea yells then.

He and Felicity turn to look at their group. They've stopped and stepped off the sidewalk onto a stretch of grass so that they don't clog the sidewalk; Thea is pointing excitedly across the rooftops.

"Oh, wow," Felicity murmurs.

The Eifel Tower is glowing golden against the black sky, and Oliver had no idea it was there until that moment.

"Will you laugh at me if I admit that I had no idea it lit up at night?"

He looks at the woman next to him. "No."

"Just checking. It's beautiful at night. I like it better this way, it seems … soft, almost. During the day it's just a huge mess of metal, but like this, I can see why everyone likes it so much."

Felicity is turned to stare at the Tower. Oliver smiles at the way she's looking at the landmark, her expression not quite as happy as the one she'd worn when faced with the statue of the Victory, but still reverent; happy. He moves closer and wonders if it's wrong to feel so drawn to someone he's just met.

"Better than the Louvre?" he teases quietly.

Felicity glances at him over her shoulder. Her eyes widen when she realizes that he's closer than before and she tips her head back a little to accommodate for his nearness.

"Not even close."

"Ollie!" Thea calls again.

"We better catch up," Oliver says. What he really wants is to disappear down the quiet side streets with only Felicity for company and wander until they get lost.

Felicity nods. Oliver gives in to the urge to reach for her and places a light hand against the small of her back, ostensibly to ensure that she doesn't trip in the darkness.

Neither of them mentions the fact that his hand doesn't fall away until they've rejoined their friends.

* * *

"Is this how you thought the day would go when you woke up this morning?"

Felicity glances up at the man next to her. She has enjoyed every minute of this trip since the moment she crammed herself into the airplane seats with Caitlin and Iris. Paris is overrated, but the time spent with her best friends is not; still, never in a million years would she have imagined bumping into a ridiculously handsome stranger in front of her favorite sculpture in the Louvre. Nor would she have imagined bumping into him again, and then spending the rest of the evening with him.

No, there is no way that Felicity could have imagined her day taking such a turn, and with her wild imagination that's saying something.

"Not quite," she answers.

They are standing outside her hotel. She's already said goodnight to Tommy, Laurel, and Thea, but she's finding it hard to say the words now. As crazy as it seems, she doesn't want Oliver to disappear into the streets of Paris, never to be seen again.

It's stupid and a little silly, but she really likes this guy. _Of course I do_, she thinks, _because I'll never see him again, and that's just my luck_.

"Thank you for dinner," she says quietly.

"Thank you for coming."

Oliver wants to ask her for her full name, or her phone number, or anything that will let him talk to her again; he remembers clearly her slip about having a stalker once, though, and he doesn't want to scare her or make her uncomfortable, so he doesn't.

"I think Paris was a little better today," Felicity jokes with a smirk. "Less overrated than yesterday."

"More surprising," Oliver agrees quickly. "Definitely more fun."

Neither of them is ready to say goodbye, but Tommy is grinning at him like the Cheshire cat and Thea looks so tired she could fall asleep where she stands.

"I guess it would be foolish to ask if I'll see you again, wouldn't it?" Oliver asks.

"Yes," she affirms. "But I wish it wasn't." Her eyes light up suddenly. "Just a sec."

Oliver watches her step over to Caitlin. She must ask her friend for something because the other woman reaches into her purse and draws something out. Oliver doesn't see what it is until Felicity is standing in front of him again: a Sharpie.

Felicity pulls the Victory statuette out of her purse and flips the bottom up. He watches her write a capital F on the underside and the date; when she holds the Sharpie out to him, Oliver pulls his out of his pocket and mimics the action.

"Switch," Felicity says and offers him her small bronze one. Oliver hands her the white one he picked up, and she smiles. "Gotta have a souvenir," she quips.

He grins. "The trip is the souvenir," he parrots.

"Who said it was for the trip?"

Oliver laughs and wonders if it's possible to fall in love with a stranger in a foreign city in a matter of hours.


	2. Chapter 2

_**AN: It's kind of nice to have a finished story to upload. As with last chapter, the details of Rome come from memory and some help from Google. Forgive me if I've made any glaring mistakes.**_

* * *

**Rome, 2014**

Felicity takes a long drink from her cappuccino and then relaxes into the back of her chair. It's mid-September and the air is still warm and full of sunshine. The city bustles around her and while tourist season is over, there are still plenty of crowds moving down the sidewalks.

Then again, she's chosen a bistro with an impressive view of the Palatine Hill, so the tourists are understandable.

She snaps a picture and sends it to both Caitlin and Iris. Iris responds first with a lot of exclamation points and a lamentation about how much she misses Rome; Caitlin is probably busy with her work, but Felicity is sure she'll answer and tell her to have a cappuccino for her.

The fact that she's here again, and that it didn't cost her a dime, is thrilling. Granted, being here for a work conference isn't quite the same as being here with her best friends, but still. It's Rome, and the weather is beautiful, and Felicity is happy.

She loves this city.

She's just finished her Panini when Caitlin replies to her picture and tells her that she's jealous, and that Felicity should have a cappuccino for her. It's just after one in the afternoon and she's already had three of them today, so she promises to have one for her friend tomorrow.

Felicity pays for her food and crosses the street to look out over the ruins of the Roman Senate. She wonders what it would be like to live here, and be able to spend time with history the way these people do.

"Excuse me," a British voice says at her shoulder.

Felicity turns to look into the face of a dapper man in nice clothing. He smiles at her and holds up a camera.

"Could I bother you to take picture of my wife and I? Our kids seem to have disappeared."

"Of course," she responds with a smile.

She takes the camera and moves back, making sure that the power is on and that she knows what button to push while they arrange themselves.

"Ready?" she asks.

"Ready," the gentleman responds.

Felicity counts down from three and takes the picture. The couple is dressed to the nines, and she's willing to guess that the woman's outfit costs more than Felicity makes in two months – maybe three. She doubts that these people have been hoofing it around the city all day; the woman's hair is perfectly curled and she's the picture of poise.

"Thank you," the man says as Felicity hands him back his camera.

"No problem. Enjoy the rest of your day."

Felicity has already started to walk away when she hears the woman behind her speak for the first time.

"Oh, there you are!" she exclaims.

Simultaneously, the British man says, "You abandoned us for fruit?"

She smiles. Between the three of them, Felicity, Caitlin, and Iris had spent what was probably a small fortune at the fresh fruit stands the first time they were here. The memory makes her adjust her trajectory: she wants to take some plums back to her hotel room.

Plums, and cappuccinos, and basically every other thought flies right out of her mind when a tall blonde man steps onto the sidewalk in front of her.

"No way," she breathes.

The man raises his eyes to her and freezes mid-step. "Impossible."

Felicity feels glued to the sidewalk. She knows the face in front of her – she's certainly dreamed of it enough over the last year – but there's just no way that she can really be looking at him right now. She's not even in the same city.

"Felicity?"

His voice jolts her back to herself. This has to be real because even in her dreams she's never been able to recreate the sound of his voice well enough.

"Hi, Oliver."

She can't believe that he not only recognizes her, but he also remembers her name. Everything about this moment is impossible, and yet it's still happening.

Oliver grins and crosses the distance between them. He has a peach in one hand that he's apparently forgotten about.

"This is crazy," he says.

Before Felicity can reply someone is calling his name. "Oliver?"

When Felicity glances over her shoulder she sees the blonde woman whose picture she's just taken.

"Just a minute, mom."

Felicity's eyes widen and she chuckles in disbelief. "I just took a picture for your mom, apparently."

"Felicity, would you like to have dinner with me?"

The offer surprises her, though maybe it shouldn't, and then a shot of adrenaline zips up her spine. The last time she met and went to dinner with this man, she spent the next year thinking about him.

"Yes."

Oliver grins. The expression has the same effect on her now as it did then and her heartbeat accelerates.

"Do you have a pen?"

She pulls a pen and small notepad out of her purse and hands it to him. He scribbles down the name of his hotel and his room number along with his name.

"Call me when you get back to your hotel. If we're not back, leave a message at the desk with the name of your hotel and room number. Dinner at seven?"

Felicity feels as though she's just been planted in the middle of a whirlwind. The feeling is exhilarating and slightly scary, and she smiles brightly because she can't believe this is happening again. Only this time, there will not be anyone to draw her attention away from Oliver.

"Seven it is," she answers.

"Oliver?" The British man is calling for him now. "Your mother and sister would like to get lunch before heading back to the hotel."

"I'll see you in a few hours," Oliver says before disappearing behind her.

Felicity is certain the clock stops moving after that.

* * *

Oliver waits for her in the lobby. He'd offered to come to her door, but Felicity made a mess of her room in her nervousness as she was getting ready, so she asks him to wait downstairs.

As delicious as he looks in casual clothing, she's amazed that she manages not to melt in her high heels when she sets eyes on him in his suit. Charcoal gray and expertly tailored for him, it goes beautifully with the red dress she's chosen for the evening.

The way that Oliver looks at her gives her butterflies. Her voice comes out softer than she means it to. "Hi."

"You're beautiful," he responds. "Even more so than I remember."

"Thank you."

He smiles and offers her his arm. Felicity takes it tentatively, wrapping her arm around his bicep and resting her hand in the crook of his elbow.

"Wow, you smell amazing," Felicity blurts as they step out into the Roman twilight. Then she powers on to cover her embarrassment. "To be honest, I'm surprised that you remember me at all."

"Does that mean now is a bad time to admit that I haven't stopped thinking about you in the last year?"

Stunned, Felicity turns her head sharply to observe him. He's not smiling, but his blue eyes are dancing in a way that makes her think he's trying hard not to. His hair is shorter than it was in Paris and there's a layer of stubble on his face that she wants to run her fingers over.

She has no idea what to do with the knowledge that maybe this man has spent as much time thinking about her as she has about him.

"I'd say now is a very good time to admit that," Felicity says. "And I'll even the playing field by telling you that I haven't been able to forget you either."

Oliver asks after Iris and Caitlin as they walk; Felicity tells him the more interesting details and then asks after his sister and friends. They spend the journey talking amiably, and the more they do the more charmed he becomes. Felicity is intelligent and animated, and he wants to ask her questions just to see if she'll answer how he expects her to. If Tommy were here, Oliver would ask him if this is how he feels when he's around Laurel.

He tries not to contemplate what his future would look like with Felicity by his side, and fails.

They talk about what's brought them to Rome over dinner – she's here for work, he's here on a family trip for his mother's birthday – and laugh over the astronomical odds of their second chance meeting, a year and a few countries apart.

Oliver learns that Felicity is prone to babble when she starts speaking too quickly and her brain can't keep up, and that even her embarrassment is endearing; he learns that she's a genius and is gifted with computers, and her job has sent her to the city for a conference on technical advancements; he learns that she's twenty-six, an only child, and a graduate of MIT.

Felicity is touched, and more than a little charmed when Oliver admits to spending the last year wishing that he'd had the courage to ask her out like this when they met in Paris; he tells her that things with the whole surprise-we're-half-siblings thing are good, and that Tommy and Laurel are engaged; he tells her that he's twenty-eight, about to take over his family's company, and that he didn't graduate from any of the four Ivy League colleges he attended.

They stay in the restaurant for hours. Oliver makes sure to ask her if there's anyone waiting for her at home – wherever that is, because she hasn't told him and he hasn't pried – and to assure her that he's unattached as well.

Felicity's expression makes him laugh when he admits that he hasn't dated anyone in more than a year. "I was a spoiled brat," he explains. "And I did a lot of things that I'm not proud of. My behavior ended up hurting someone that means a lot to me. That's when I decided that I didn't like the person I was, and that I needed to change. So I focused on learning how to be a businessman, and steered clear of relationships."

"That's …"

"Crazy?" Oliver teases.

Felicity chuckles. "Amazing," she finishes. "Not whatever happened before, obviously, but that you saw the things you didn't like about yourself, and worked to change them. Not many people can do that."

His watch declares it's almost midnight when they finally leave the restaurant and start the trek back to her hotel room. Oliver walks slowly because he is loathe to be parted from her once again.

"So, have I earned the privilege of asking your last name yet?" he queries as they travel.

"I don't know," Felicity teases. "Maybe we should wait another year and see if we run into each other in a different European city."

Oliver pulls them to a gentle stop in the middle of the sidewalk. He tries to memorize the lines of her face, repainting them over the places where the old lines have been worn out.

"We could do that," he acknowledges seriously. "But as much as I enjoy Europe, I'd hate to spend the next year here looking for you."

She's so flattered that she can't form words for a minute. Then, finally, she says, "Smoak."

"What?" Oliver glances up and down the street in confusion.

Felicity laughs and squeezes his elbow. "No! My name, my full name, is Felicity Smoak. Well, Felicity Meghan Smoak, but you … didn't need to know that."

Oliver is utterly captivated by this woman. He raises his free hand to brush a curl off of her cheek and doesn't miss the way her breath stutters at the touch. He's glad to know that he's not the only one affected by whatever is happening between them.

"Nice to finally meet you, Felicity Smoak. I'm Oliver Queen."

Their lips are almost touching when his cell phone trills harshly in his pocket. Felicity flinches in surprise and Oliver groans; he sees Thea's name on the screen and greets her dryly.

"What do you want, Speedy?" A pause follows. Then, "Great, until you called."

Felicity huffs and tugs his arm gently to get him to resume walking. The weather is perfect during the day, but there's a definite chill in the air at such a late hour and she hasn't brought a coat.

"She has the worst timing ever," Oliver says by way of apology when he hangs up.

"Isn't that what siblings are for?"

Felicity shivers. Oliver stops them and waits for her to let go of his arm to shimmy out of his suit jacket and drape it over her shoulders. She is a small woman and the coat nearly dwarfs her as it hangs around her knees.

"Thank you," Felicity murmurs. She slips her arm around his again when he holds it out for her.

When they step foot inside her hotel Felicity accepts his offer to walk her to her door. She leads them toward the stairs and ignores the way Oliver raises his eyebrows at her in clear understanding of her tactics.

"Can I take you out again tomorrow?" Oliver asks when they're at her door.

"I'd like that."

"And the night after that? How about every night, for as long as we're both here?"

She laughs again and Oliver moves closer to her. He met Felicity by chance in a crowded museum what feels like forever ago, and in the intervening months – in the whole of his prior twenty-seven years of life – he's never met anyone who draws him in the way she does.

"What about your family?" Felicity asks.

"They won't mind."

She studies his face before tipping her head ever so slightly to the side. The movement causes blonde tresses, wavy and thick, to swathe one fine shoulder.

"I'd like that, too."

Oliver takes another step forward and draws something out of his pocket. He holds it up for her to see: a small bronze statuette of a winged goddess.

"That can't be the same one!" She grabs his hand and maneuvers it so that the statue is upside down, and, sure enough, there's a faded black F and a date written on the bottom. "You still have it."

"Goes with me everywhere," Oliver admits softly. "She's my good luck charm."

Felicity turns his hand so that the statue is right side up again and studies it. The corners of the base are starting to lose their color, and one of the wingtips has apparently been rubbed and worried so much that the detail on the feathers there is completely gone.

"Mine is on my nightstand," Felicity admits.

This time there is no phone call to interrupt. Oliver moves slowly so that she has time to stop him if she wants to, but Felicity just watches and waits with bated breath.

He kisses her gently. The touch is exploratory at first and then she sighs against his mouth, and without thought he reaches up to cup her cheek as the hand with the statue slips around her waist and pulls her closer.

Felicity forgets how late it is, and how impossible the whole thing seems, and where they are – she might even forget her name. All that she knows is that his lips are like silk beneath hers and his chest is a hard plane of muscle, and then his tongue is tracing the arch of her upper lip.

Ten minutes or ten hours might pass with them so wrapped around one another; only a lack of air, and the bite of a tiny statue digging in to her hip drive them apart.

Oliver doesn't let go and Felicity doesn't try to move away.

"I may have gotten a little carried away," he murmurs.

"Oh, good," she quips. "That was you! I was afraid it might've been me."

Oliver leaves almost twenty minutes later with a suit jacket that smells like his new favorite perfume and a floating sensation in his chest.

* * *

They end up in bed three days later.

It catches them both by surprise. Oliver comes to her door with plans to take her to watch the sun set from Nero's palace at the top of the Palatine Hill. She opens the door at his knock with a toothbrush in her mouth and a garbled promise that she's almost done as she waves him into the room.

He smiles when he sees her suitcases: they're both bright blue, and one has a scarf covered in neon polka dots tied to the handle; the scarf on the other one is purple and covered in white stars.

Then he sees her tablet on one of the nightstands. Standing proudly next to it is a white statue of the Victory of Samothrace. He doesn't hesitate to step over and pick it up, flipping it over to see where he'd written an O and the date a year before.

The impossibility of it all strikes him like a physical blow. There is no way that this can be real, that this can be happening anywhere outside of his dreams, but it is. Oliver is in Rome and Felicity has just stepped out of the bathroom behind him.

The truth is stranger than fiction, he thinks.

Felicity moves in to smile at the statue in his hand. Oliver sets it down and then reaches for her on impulse, pressing his hands over her hips and drawing her to him as he kisses her ardently. His only thought is that he wants to hold on to this moment and stretch it out so that it never ends; he doesn't care how they managed to find each other again, or if some force or other brought them together. All Oliver cares about in that moment is the woman in front of him.

She moans softly into his mouth and then Oliver is lifting her off her feet; Felicity wraps her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck and kisses him until Oliver lowers her onto her back on the bed.

The only sunset that Oliver sees that evening is the one that filters through the open window and catches in Felicity's golden tresses as they chase each other into sweet oblivion.

* * *

Oliver meets a stranger in Paris; he falls in love with her in Rome.

He isn't naturally austere, but he feels as though that's how he's spent every day of his life before meeting Felicity. The hours they spend together exploring the city – and each other – are filled with a joy that Oliver has often witnessed, but never experienced. They eat gelato as they stroll and drink enough cappuccinos to put a coffee shop out of business; they throw pennies into the Trevisi Fountain, and then Oliver decides to throw in all of the change in his pocket – Euro and American alike – because he'll wish, or pray, or do almost anything imaginable to spend the rest of his life just like this.

His mother and Walter ask him about how he's been spending his time and who he's disappearing with – Thea keeps referring to her as the Statue Woman, and that just confuses them - and Oliver surprises both his family and Felicity by suggesting they have dinner together.

So, two nights before Felicity's work conference ends and she flies out of Rome, Oliver introduces her to the members of his family she hasn't already met. Walter is immediately fond of her, even if her verbal gaffes give him pause; Moira is undecided about whether or not she likes Felicity, but she certainly likes how she affects her son; and Thea splits her time between trying to lead Felicity into rambles (which she finds entertaining) and alternately embarrassing or pressing her brother's buttons.

Oliver doesn't go back to his hotel that night. He stays with Felicity, tracing idle patterns against her bare skin as he tries not to think about what happens next. They haven't talked about what it is they're doing, or what happens when it's time to leave, and now that he's faced with the reality he's terrified to contemplate the options.

What would be worse: finding out that what he's been treating as and considering a relationship has been only a fling for her, or that it hasn't?

_Just because you fell in love in two weeks doesn't mean she did_, a nasty voice whispers in his ear.

The fear stays his tongue. He has a plethora of questions and no idea how to ask them, or where he can find the courage to do so, because he's not sure if he can handle the answers.

Maybe Oliver can handle being without Felicity – letting her go without hope of ever seeing her again – but he can't handle hearing her say that she doesn't love him. This has been a whirlwind romance from start to finish; perhaps that's all it was ever meant to be.

Oliver can't tell her that he loves her, so he does his best to show her.

* * *

He goes with her to the airport. Felicity tries not to clasp his hand too tightly as they wander through the building to kill time. She tries not to think about how it feels like her little Victory statue is burning a hole through her purse, or the fact she watched him put his in his pocket earlier. They are twin reminders of impossible odds, and inconceivable happiness.

"So how much longer are you in Rome?" she asks to distract herself.

"A week." Oliver looks as somber as she feels.

Felicity nods. She doesn't know what to say; Rome feels like their city and it's strange to think of Oliver here without her.

The thought spurs her into action. "Do you … would you like to, I don't know, keep in touch this time, maybe? I think it's safe to say you've earned the right to my phone number." Oliver's expression has morphed into one she doesn't recognize, so she hurries to clarify. "I mean, there's no pressure, or anything, really. I don't expect … I'm not …"

Oliver pulls her into his chest and kisses her just as a voice announces over the loud speaker that her flight is about to begin boarding.

"Of course I want your phone number, Felicity."

She types it into his cell phone with her stomach full of butterflies because, at the very least, he won't disappear forever now.

Felicity hands him back his phone. He gives her a lingering, almost sad kiss. "Don't miss your flight," he tells her.

She's almost to the security check when Oliver looks at her phone number and frowns. The area code seems familiar but he can't think of why.

"Felicity!" he calls, jogging to the line that now separates them. He has to know. "Where do you live?"

"Coast City," she replies. "But I'm moving next month."

"Miss?" one of the security guards addresses her.

Oliver is dumbfounded. Coast City? Has she lived there long? Is that where she lived when they met in Paris? It's not down the street from Starling City, exactly, but it's close enough that it sort of makes his heart lurch to think about. Has she lived that close to him this whole time?

Why didn't he bite the bullet and ask her earlier?

In his surprise, Felicity has been ushered through the security check and disappeared. He doesn't have time to be angry with himself for not saying a final goodbye, because his phone dings at the arrival of a text.

_Have gelato for me_, it reads, _from that shop near the Vatican that I love_. _Call you later?_

_I can't wait_, Oliver responds.

He's already formulating a plan.


	3. Chapter 3

_**AN: Sorry this took me so long to upload, I had a bit of a ... logistical snafu because someone (*cough* EFFIE *cough*) poked the muse. Anyway, sorry this one is so short, it leads into the last one - but I wanted to break them up by city, because that's how it works. Thank you to everyone who has read/reviewed/favorited this! I wrote it a month or two ago and only got around to editing it after finals. **_

* * *

**Starling City, 2014**

She's standing in the hangar when he steps out of the leer jet a week later.

Oliver is staring at his phone as he navigates the short set of stairs that lead him out of the aircraft and onto the pavement. He's about to reserve a hotel room in Coast City – because now that he knows she's so close, there's no way he's going to wait or waste time in seeing her again – when a familiar voice echoes through the space.

"Do you know how hard it is to surprise someone in an airport when they have a private plane?"

Oliver's head snaps up in disbelief. Felicity is standing less than ten feet from him with a purse over her shoulder and a smile.

His mouth falls open in a very undignified but sincere expression of surprise.

"Felicity? How … When?"

"Thea helped," she says casually. She grins at his sister where she moves behind him. "I thought I'd surprise you, but …"

The rest of her words are cut short when Oliver spans the distance and kisses her abruptly. Felicity smiles even as she reciprocates the pressure of his lips.

"I love you," Oliver tells her between kisses.

Felicity stills at the confession. When Oliver opens his eyes to look at her, hers are wide behind her glasses and she's just sort of staring at him. They haven't shared those words before this moment.

"What?" Felicity breathes.

"I love you, Felicity. I wanted to tell you before you left, but I was afraid. This all seemed impossible and I didn't know if this was just a fling to you, or what would happen when we left Rome. But now, here you are, and I just … I love you."

The longest heartbeat of Oliver's life passes before she responds.

"I love you, too."

He kisses her again; he's happy to stand in that hangar for the rest of the day as long as she's pressed against him like she is now. His mother has other plans, apparently.

"Hello, Felicity," Moira greets. "Oliver, why don't you let Felicity breathe and we can get lunch?"

Oliver chuckles when he stops kissing Felicity long enough to see that she's blushing.

"Hello, Mrs. Queen," she answers. "It's good to see you all again."

Oliver slips his arm around her waist and tugs her into step beside him as they make their way out of the hangar and toward the waiting town car. Thea zips up next to Felicity and grins when she fake whispers a thank you to the younger woman.

He doesn't think he takes his eyes off of Felicity for the duration of the meal. Oliver can't believe that she's here, and that she had the chance to surprise him before he could do the same for her.

Starling City was made for Felicity Smoak. She looks beautiful under the Paris street lights; sunsets in Rome tangle in her golden tresses as if they were made to rest there; but seeing her in his city … there is a correctness and perfection to the sight that arrests his heartbeat. He is here, and now she is here, and this is home.

Felicity has come home with him; she has come home to him.

"How long are you here?" he asks later, when they are alone.

She grins in that way he's come to know heralds a joke, or something equally playful. Oliver feels an answering grin tugging at his lips.

"Remember when I said I was moving?"

Stunned, Oliver stops kissing her shoulder and raises his head to stare at her in disbelief. "Are you serious?"

Felicity laughs and latches her hands together behind his back. "You are looking at the newest employee of Queen Consolidated."

Oliver is laughing when he drags her down onto the hotel bed with him. She squeals and giggles as he rubs his stubble up her throat and over her cheek, and there has never been a more perfect moment of happiness in all of Oliver Queen's life.

Felicity is here and they are together, and he'll never be without her again.


	4. Chapter 4

_**AN: So. This is where the story ends. When I wrote it, I felt like this was where it should end - but note the time jump between this chapter and the last one. I didn't include the time jump for any particular reason when I wrote it, but now ... well, it's gonna work out, apparently. This story is finished, but I'm going to be creating another series to fill in the years and a few of the cities during the years missing from the time jump. I wanted to upload this in its entirety so that it could stand alone and be a finished product, but there will be more. Again, thank you to everyone who has read/reviewed/favorite this - I hope it made you smile!**_

_**One last note: back in 2013, a co-worker/friend of mine and his wife lost their two year old daughter to cancer. Her name was Millie, and she was shy, and sweet, and I'll never forget her. The Millie in this is so named for that beautiful little girl.**_

* * *

**Paris, 2023**

"Wow! Mom, look at her! Isn't she pretty? I want wings. Daddy, can I have wings?"

"I thought you were afraid of heights?"

"I wouldn't be afraid if I had wings!"

Oliver raises his eyebrows at his wife. She doesn't bother to hide her grin as she shifts their daughter to her other hip.

"Weston, stay here please," Oliver calls as his son starts to move around the statue. "I don't want you to get lost."

"Wouldn't get lost if I had wings!" the six year old replies.

Felicity laughs. Millie lets out a sudden squeal and stretches her hand out toward the statue, so Felicity steps forward and lets her run a small hand over the stone as Oliver follows Weston to the other side.

Despite the buzz of the crowds in the Louvre, Felicity hears her son ask: "Why doesn't she have arms? Or a head?"

When Oliver reappears at her side he slips an arm around her waist and presses a kiss against her temple. "He gets the inquisitiveness from you."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I don't think I want wings," Weston declares then. He glances up at the statue and then back at his parents.

"Why not?" Felicity asks.

"'Cause I like my arms."

Oliver's laughter is loud as it bounces off the museum walls. He drops his head onto Felicity's shoulder in an effort to be quiet, but his shoulders shake from the effort of trying to contain it, and that only makes her laugh harder.

"How come the statue at home isn't this big?" Weston continues. He's unperturbed at his parents' laughter.

"Because it wouldn't fit otherwise," Oliver answers around his grin.

"Oh."

"Ollie!"

Together Oliver and Felicity turn their heads to the side. Thea is standing at the top of the stairs and smiles when she sees they're paying attention. Next to her, Roy has a toddler on his shoulders.

"Tommy and Laurel want to get lunch."

"Oh, what time is it?" Felicity gasps and leans her head around Millie to get a look at her watch. "It's almost two," she tells Oliver. "Millie needs a nap before we meet everyone for dinner."

Oliver nods and then addresses Thea. "We'll meet you in the hall," he calls. Then, holding out his hand for his son to grab, "C'mon, Wes, it's time to eat."

"Can we come back, mommy? I like the wing lady!"

"Of course we can come back, baby."

Oliver stops walking long enough to lean over the heads of both of his children and give his wife a kiss.

Later, when he's pushing a stroller with two sleeping children down the side streets of Paris, Oliver pulls a faded statuette from his pocket and hands it to Felicity with a fond smile. She pulls its twin from her purse and a Sharpie; beneath the original date on his, she writes the new one and then waits for him to do the same on hers.

"Gotta have a souvenir," they chorus fondly.

Ahead of them, Caitlin's laugh hangs in the air. She has an arm hooked through Ronnie's, but she's leaning forward to say something to Cisco, who is holding Barry and Iris' two year old daughter; behind them, Tommy and Laurel are sharing gelato with their son Jonah, and Thea is pushing another sleeping baby while Roy studies a city map.

"Digg and Lyla are coming next year," Felicity says as she watches their friends. "They don't have a choice."

Oliver smiles and pulls her in for a kiss. In his pocket, the Victory of Samothrace rests against his leg.

He has won the only Victory that matters: happiness.


End file.
